Parenthood Uncensored (The Parts They Don’t Tell You)

Parenthood is like Bipolar, but before we get into the whole “I-can’t-believe-you-would-use-such-a-serious-condition-so-passively” debate, let me explain…

Parenthood isn’t “great” – it’s agonising! It’s feelings of anxiety, stress, uncertainty, guilt, anger, frustration and often, sadness all rolled into one.

But then it can be bearable, almost “great” with feelings of happiness, satisfaction, pride and a little voice that says “sure, I can do this!” (and these feelings are fleeting with every passing moment by the way).

Expectations well and truly fell short when I fantasised about what kind of parent I would be (and I would be awesome!) because as the days go on, I see myself more and more like my mother, each and every day… and that is terrifying!

So, it’s silly things really but my husband and I found ourselves sitting in our clutter-filled-with-kids-toys-nappies-and-miscellaneous “visitor room” imagining our life when it finally gets  back to “normal” (whatever normal is). We thought and debated about the age, we believe, kids can look after themselves (14, 15… definitely 16) and we spoke of all the things we would do when we finally had our freedom again.

It made me nervously laugh – they say time is precious and here we were wishing our children’s lives’ away when they’ve not even started school!

Don’t get me wrong, I do treasure time with them when they are happy and content and not screaming, crying or pushing the buttons but 11pm can’t come far enough because that is the only time we get 10 minutes to gulp down a coffee ready for the night feeds.

The worrying thing is, I don’t ever recall the warning in advance? You know, “beware kids make you crazy… no really, they do! Please don’t! Beware! BEWARE!” and if I did, it would have came with the robot baby experiment at school that my parents point-blank refused to allow me to participate in (at the time I thought “fun-sucker” but with hindsight, is it no wonder they didn’t want a crying robot back in the house reminding them of all the sleepless nights they had already sacrificed… and man they looked as old as I do now… and that’s old!).

So I never got the chance to realise how much it sucked being a parent and I’m learning the hard way today.

I’ve found myself repeat those fun-sucking statements my own parents used to say which mostly consisted of “no”. The majority of my personal vocabulary is “No” or “Get to your bed!” or “shut up, you are driving me crazy” (“fuck off” to be honest…).

And what’s more testing is the fact they can calculate and plan an attack – yes children, well my 3-year-old anyway. He’s a master at being an arsehole. He whines and cries to get the sympathy vote. He smiles and laughs at exactly the right time to be rewarded. He also likes to tell me “no” when I ask him through deep breaths to “please tidy up your toys”. He tells me off for cursing, he corrects me for my slang dialect and he often reminds me that nothing said or done is ever kept private (including my bowel movement).

Parenthood is like Bipolar – when it’s good, they’re sleeping and when it’s bad, it’s reeeeallly bad (like pull-my-hair-out-and-poke-my-eyes, bad).

Now, I love my kids, I love the bones of them, but I don’t want to mislead anyone into thinking that parenthood is flawless, is perfect, is amazing. It’s not. It’s mostly awful because you are constantly nagging, constantly worrying and constantly shouting and feeling guilty for shouting.

So, be warned!


Childbirth Number Two


First of all, he’s here – now 5 months and, I’m here. It’s taken me 5 months to start to feel a little more like myself so, here I am updating my blog. Just like old times.

If you recall the last entry into the blog mentioning all of the God awful symptoms I was experiencing through pregnancy number two, you’ll remember I mentioned having the fear.

Well… I was right to be fearful.

So, pregnancy continued to progress with the horrid symptoms I was telling you about – farting, sweating, slevering, cramping, peeing myself, constipation and restless leg syndrome and my due date got closer.

My last scan (which happened to be on my due date) showed a sudden decline in my babies growth so the doctor decided to take me in and induce me. So, 8am came and I got my first lot of pessaries (so much different to the first time round) and I waited… and waited… and waited.

It came to around 6pm and after the nurse examining me, I was given yet another pessary.

Oh bloody Hell!

In an instant and not a second later, the pain. The cramps. It was bad. Real bad. So they had me WALK to the labour suite to get the ball rolling and I had insisted I was wanting pain relief. The contractions at this point were making me feel sick and light-headed and it was night and day to what I had experienced the first time round… hellish.

I didn’t even reach the bed when I was wanting to push – two trainee nurses greeted me with their stupid, nervous/pity smiles and I wanted to eat them alive. Scott was by my side still, a constant anchor without whom, I would have never made it there.

Everything around me became a blur and I remember hearing the mayhem unleash around me… the frantic “help” from one of the trainees when putting in my Antibiotic drip for my Group B Strep. I suddenly sensed at this point, these young girls (younger than me) had not a clue what they were doing and I was their first live experiment.

I begged for pain relief as the mother of all contractions continued to relentlessly hit me like a tidal wave – there was no release from the grip it had on me… there was no space to breathe in between contractions. I was having one massive, prolonged, never-ending one that showed no mercy on me. And I remember holding on to Scott, whaling uncontrollably and telling him, “I don’t think I’m going to make it”.

This sounds so dramatic, yet my heart was palpitating and pounding so hard and fast, I was struggling to catch a breath, I was bracing stiffly trying to push the pain away… my pain relief never came.

My back and pelvis, I could feel crack under my skin as the nurses senselessly told me to bring my hips up, forward, round, back around the other way… it was impossible to me.

And amongst all the pain, the pushing, the screaming, the whaling, the grabbing and squeezing, I did shit myself. That was it – the ultimate fear every woman has nightmares of. It happened. I felt it and I did not care.

Have any of you ever pushed so hard that you broke your waters with every push? It’s a sensation I could never put into words….

1 hour 27 minutes from my contractions starting with a vengeance, I gave birth to Joey.

The trauma of the delivery forced me into a state of shock – I was freezing cold, shivering uncontrollably and didn’t have the strength to hold him. A couple of days later, I went into shock again.

They say that paving the way with your first, makes it easier the second time around, but I can honestly say that for me, this just wasn’t the case. I struggled, I genuinely feared for my life and I hurt myself so bad I gave myself a haemorrhoid.

Safe to say, I will NEVER, EVER put my body through that again.

The Smacking Law – Good or Bad?

With a toddler near approaching three and all the more mouthy with it, I found confidence in that I could always resort to the ever-effective, old-fashioned, smack to the arse

Let’s be honest: the odd red bum never did us any real harm and if we were to be completely honest, could we really say that we didn’t deserve it?!

Being a parent is testing – it is a job that requires a great deal of compromise, patience and tolerance as well as the nice parts: love, humour and self-satisfaction.

But, the reality of it is, we expected our parents to be super-human – resilient to all of the tests we put them through and the scary thing about it is, not only are our children over-expecting these days, but our government is too!

I am fearful for the parents of this day and age and I fear for myself. If we can’t smack our children when they’ve done something wrong and won’t take a telling or a yelling, then what can we do?

Is it fair that we should be held accountable for our children’s behaviour now that this new law is in place telling us that we can’t discipline our children in this way or that?

What if our children don’t listen? What if they don’t respond to idle threats? What if they suddenly realise that parents don’t have as much control over them as they once did?

When my son has a tantrum he lashes out – he kicks, he spits, he hits and he resists against my attempts to calm him down. Sometimes he hurts me in the process and he has even kicked my stomach (being 5 months pregnant at the time). Am I not allowed to smack him? Does self-defence not apply to us? Surely this is a breach of our human rights?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I want to hit my son with force or cause him any physical or emotional harm. I’m not saying I would hit him in the face if he struck me there. It’s not an “eye for an eye” but shouldn’t it be such, that a smack to the bum, at times, is completely necessary and reasonable when all other avenues have failed?

Those of us who are parents understand the pressures of having kids on top of our other responsibilities (work, bills, pets, house chores, medical conditions, etc.), so sometimes our tolerance to bad behaviour isn’t as great as it should be, and sometimes having that “last resort” to smack our child is enough to make us feel like all is not lost completely… when all else fails. But, what happens now when our hands are more or less, tied?

I heard on the radio the other day that a man had been arrested for the murder of his young child and though this is absolutely disgusting and unjustifiable, I couldn’t help but think that this story could be creeping up more and more with the implementation of this law… we all have “bad days” and some people can control more than others but if we are constantly having to control ourselves and restrain our frustration, surely that could lead to outbursts of uncontrolled, unrestrained anger? What would have been a smack last year has built up to a beating today. Perhaps this is quite extreme, but it could happen.

Ultimately, we are telling our children that they can do anything because we, the parents, have little control over the discipline of them.

Sure, we can shout and we can try to reason, we can bribe and therein bring up very spoiled children, we can even try sending them to their beds and “grounding” them but if they were to physically disobey our rules, we cannot physically react without being charged with assault.

This law has damaged our future drastically and I for one, feel it will do far more damage than good.


Pre-Workout Introduction

Hey girls!

WIN_20170823_14_56_48_Pro (2)

This is the marking of my second positive (and active) step forward in my journey to a healthier and much fitter lifestyle. I’m starting a little later than I had hope, being 4 months pregnant now HOWEVER, I am doing this!

I hope that you can join me on this journey, support and share with me your own thoughts, experiences and journeys too, as motivation to keep going no matter how tempting it is to give up and make do with feeling adequate, but not great all the time.

I don’t want to be that mummy who has no energy, no drive and no interest in being an active part of my kids’ lives – I want to be the fun mum. The go-out-and-explore mum. The mum who can go on amazing adventures and lead my children away from the use of technology at least most of the time. The mum who is creative and builds things with her children. The mum I always thought I would be.

And sadly, I’m not that mum…yet!

My son is approaching three in November and I have another due in January 2018 (thank you, thank you very much) and what has been constantly resounding in my mind lately, is how much I could have done already to make Jack’s lone-child life with mum and dad more fun… I could have lost the baby weight for a start – I didn’t. I could have taken him to the park more – I maybe take him once every couple of months. I could have allowed him to splash in puddles – I maybe did so, once! I could have play fought with him and built dens and baked instead of watching Disney films on a Sunday afternoon! I could have done a lot of things and the fact is, I didn’t because I neglected myself. I neglected myself and I lost my energy. I lost my energy and I became lazy!

So I have devised steps to follow, three to be precise. These are the stepping stones that will get me feeling sexy, confident and the best mum that I can be for my children. Here goes!

Step One – mental preparation – I know what I have to do. So now I make a solid plan on how to do it.

Step Twopublically announcing a change. Here I am right now, telling the world I’m gonna do it simply because, I probably will if people are watching and waiting for something to change – people want to see the proof, they aren’t going to make excuses for me the way that I would and I need that kind of tough love!

Step Three – Do what physically and mentally needs to be done to look, feel and be the ultimate yummy mummy for my kids. It definitely is easier said than done, I don’t know about other pregnant ladies out there, but the thought of putting myself through anything vigorous sounds less appealing than licking a strip of sandpaper but I am only thinking this way because I have no energy.

So, I have joined the Chakra Challenge with Yoga Guru, Allie @JourneyJunkie and I’m due to commence this as of 4th September – mental. spiritual and physical growth here I come!

Along with some home pregnancy work-outs curtesy of my husband and personal, personal trainer – marriage might be a bit rocky from now on but hey, I’m all about challenges right now!

Wish me luck!

Phanny xo

The Truth About Your Second Pregnancy

  1. It isn’t any less frightening than the first just because we’ve been through labour once before doesn’t mean we are a lot less petrified of the idea of going through it again. Let’s face it, labour was not fun the first time round – it was very, very painful not to mention completely undignified. And all this “you forget the ordeal as soon as you hold your baby for the first time” nonsense, is just that – nonsense!

    I remember every part of labour from the contractions, to the pushing, to the deciding I wasn’t pushing anymore, to the having to push again, to the stitching up at the end. It wasn’t nice and I’ll admit for a brief while I resented my baby quite a lot for the entire thing much as I loved him too.

  2. You still don’t know what to expectsome would assume that if you’ve been through it once you’re completely prepared for it a second time. Not the case. Each of my pregnancies have been different. It varies each and every time and you can never predict what’s around the corner but one thing I have came to expect is the unexpected. I mean, who would have thought that skin tags would be a common symptom of pregnancy, talk about disgusting!

  3. You don’t save as much money as you think you will after you’ve had your first little monster you get wise to all the ways you can save money. We have it all planned: keeping all neutral coloured clothing for hand-me-downs and hoarding baby toys that will save us expensive trips to Toys ‘R’ Us. But unless you have a massive house with ample storage, you’re going to sell on most of the baby items that are hindering your much needed space – bottles, bottle warmers, baby seats, prams etc., to make room for other necessities as your toddler grows.

    Then there is the invention of other ingenious baby things – my sister bought herself a milk maker that actually mixes formula to the exact temperature required in minutes (amazing!). 

    Lastly you have legislation which is constantly changing – the most recent one being car seats! It’s a joke – parents don’t have it easy and no matter how much you try to save money, you are going to have to dip deep into your pockets whether you like it or not.

  4. Your husband still hasn’t a clue – there is a part of you the second time round that feels confident that if anything, your hubby is going to be on the ball this time. That he knows how tiring it is for you and that housework is the last thing you need to be doing when you’re carrying extra weight and feeling the pressure on your lower back.

    Doesn’t happen – wishful thinking ladies!

    Men actually go the opposite way and think that we’ve done it before, so it’s like a second nature to us now – a nice thought but a stupid one!

    We need the extra help around the house, we need the extra patience when our hormones get the better of us, we need time to relax without the toddler prodding you with his foam sword and asking you a million questions and it would be nice to come home to a bath and glass of non-alcoholic prosecco after a busy day, just because.

    But if you want these things, you’ll have to moan for them and after all that energy has been consumed, you will be too fed up to even care.



Being Mummy – the things we don’t expect.

I’ve been part of this whole motherhood circus now for 2 years… two emotional, long, agonising, exhausting yet all-of-a-sudden, FAST years!

Motherhood is not blissful but it is occasionally pleasant (when the kid is sleeping and you can look down in awe and think, this is why I work so bloody hard every second – ha).

So what didn’t I expect? Apart from everything, here are a few:

  • What respectable, young woman would really ever expect that she would allow the hair on her legs to grow for at least a month without touching them?!

    I’ve never understood the whole man and ape theory, but after seeing for myself what a certain amount of neglect can transform me into… 

  • I didn’t expect that the “I’m away to POWDER MY NOSE” cover for women needing a shit would officially be blown, when my needy little toddler finally decided that toilet time was no longer just a me thing…

    Be prepared for the dreaded outty he gives you in public, too (“mummy did a poo poo and it was stinky!” – I’m just waiting for it…)

  • Did I expect that I would have to shower with my eyes open and be prepared for an emergency exit? Eh – nope!

    Boobs and arse running around the house in search of the little brat (whom I love with all my heart) when I’ve suddenly taken my eyes off him to shampoo my hair. Please say someone out there has done this too?!

  • How could I have possibly predicted that after having a baby, I would never look at my mother the same way again… like, a massive respect for what she went through to have me (obviously) but wait a minute,

    I actually did pop through my mums vagina, I didn’t just appear here and this is all suddenly, way too disturbing to comprehend! And don’t even mention breastfeeding – ignorance, in this instance, is definitely bliss! (Ewww!)

  • I didn’t expect to have an objective perspective when I first saw my baby after delivering him –

    he wasn’t the “most beautiful thing I ever saw! – he was wrinkly, gooey and ugly and to be completely honest, at that point, I bloody well hated him… albeit, those feelings quickly passed – (Oh God, I can’t believe I’ve actually said it out loud!).

  • I didn’t expect to have to say goodbye to myself – I am constantly saying “motherhood doesn’t define all that I am“, but it actually soooooo does!!!

    Nothing you do is for yourself for the next 16 years of your life – whether you like it or not.

  • I didn’t expect to “lose it” as much as my parents did (I thought I would be a cool parent, no rules, laid-back, blah blah blah) –

    I “lose it” every. single. day! Over everything and anything and afterwards, I feel stupid and over-dramatic and terrible and ugly and fat, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it all over again tomorrow!

  • I didn’t expect to revert back to having sex in the dark because I don’t recognise what body parts are what and I certainly didn’t expect to make sex into a business – scheduled into my mental diary to then postpone for a week or two or, until further notice.

    My honeymoon (after child) was spent sleeping in bed for 10pm each night on a Caribbean cruise, we were that shattered! Tip: Get married first and wait a year!

  • I didn’t expect to have that much stretch marks! And they say, “be proud of your stretch marks (even though they cover your entire stomach, boobs and arse)”

    NO! I am not proud of my stretch marks! I hate them and I’m sorry I do!

  • I didn’t expect giving birth to be that traumatising and not just physically but emotionally too! The head alone feels like the entire body, the placenta is like its evil twin and the internal stitches? Probably worse than the birth itself! The epidural – having to push your bare-naked arse out towards a young male Doctor, while contracting and trying to breathe is bloody hard and completely destroys all dignity even before the chance you may shit yourself.

    They tell you that shitting during delivery is inevitable – it’s better to believe them. They also put the fear of life into you when it comes to your first poop after… don’t worry, you don’t feel like your arse is going to collapse, because I’m pretty sure it already has!


Terrible Two’s Myth

So anyone new to the whole parenting malarkey has probably had what I call, the fear, put in them over the concept of their child turning two.

But right now you’re probably cradling your little wrinkled up bundle of sick and poop with a sort of, unwavering denial that your child will never become an arsehole… ha!

For me, having a younger sister who really did seem to be the devil incarnate meant that I knew all too well that children grew up having their own ideas of what they wanted and when that didn’t go the way they had planned, all hell broke loose! I spent the majority of my childhood sleeping with my eyes open, completely convinced that one day, my little angelic sister would eat me alive (and trust me, once, she almost did!).

Because I was also a child myself then, my perception of time was completely off and I had always assumed that that would have been the “terrible two’s” phase for her, after all, at 20 years old, she is completely pleasant these days! So naturally, when I was pregnant with Jack I dreaded him getting to that stage of his life.

By the way – you hear how parents cry with pride when their child reaches each milestone? Well, I cried too but I cried for a very different reason! And I am now convinced – parents don’t cry with pride when their children can now walk and talk and climb etc., they cry with a fear that only a parent can understand!

My son became an arsehole soon after turning one (terrible two’s my arse!) – it was the first time I saw him like his dad and unfortunately the resemblance is only intensifying as he is getting older…

Jack has always been fiercely independent, the day he was born he could lift his head off of my chest and wave it around a bit – for a wee 5 pound baby, it was rather impressive but I knew then we had our work cut out for us. His love for being independent has only got more and more. For example, he won’t hold hands when out and about and he won’t eat anything he doesn’t want to (which is more or less everything but carbonara, beans and chocolate). He’s not shy of telling me to “go away” or his daddy to “Get!” and he’s also been caught the occasional time kicking our dogs out the way or chasing them up and down the hall with his sword.

As you can see, a proper little shit-head.

Just the other night, we decided to go one step further than his “naughty step” and put him straight to his cot. If ever there was a noise I would hear that would resemble the Exorcism amplified 100 times, this would be it. Jack had finally reached complete possession phase. The terrible two’s just got badder if that’s even possible! He was screeching in a way that resembled that freaky kid in The Shining. For the first time, I was actually afraid of my son.

So – terrible two’s is actually, terrible whatever age they decide they want to terrorise you.

Don’t get me wrong, Jack is the sweetest little arsehole in my life, ever and I love him.